magic potion 03 - ghost of a potion

by blake, heather

  “No use in letting all this go to waste,” she said, gesturing to the table. “Besides, someone should be here when Delia wakes up. You don’t mind if I stay, do you?”

  It wasn’t very often Ainsley had a whole afternoon without the Clingons. I bent and gave her a hug. “Stay as long as you want.”

  After Ainsley slipped a movie into the DVD player, she went over the dress I’d worn to the ball. “Just look at it. It’s a shame; that’s what it is.”

  The dress was hanging on a hook near the door. It was utterly ruined, the hem in tatters. I’d already transferred money to pay for it outright, but I didn’t know what to do with the gown. For some reason I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out with the trash. “You want it?” I asked. “Maybe you can make something out of it that Olive can add to her dress-up box.”

  “Really? I do have some ideas.”

  “It’s yours.” I grabbed my sunglasses, coat, and shoes, and headed for the door.

  Back on the couch, Ainsley tugged the blanket onto her lap and cracked open the bag of chips. “Oh, and Carly?”

  Hand on the doorknob, I turned. “Yeah?”

  “Could you please take the ghosts with you?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Mayor Ramelle lived in a big historical house near the river walk, not too far from the center of town. Her house wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the Ezekiel mansion but it was a favorite stop on the home tour hosted by the Harpies every summer.

  The sun had come out, chasing away the chill in the air, and I’d opted to ride my bike to soak up the sunshine. Virgil and Jenny Jane floated behind me, and I hadn’t spotted any more ghosts roaming around on my way over here.

  Thankfully.

  A circular drive led up to the Georgian-style brick home that had a fancy fountain as a focal point in the front yard. I was so engrossed with the way fountain water shot out of various openings that I didn’t notice the white Mercedes convertible with its top down in the driveway until it honked at me.

  Idella Deboe Kirby leaned over the driver’s door. Sunlight glinted off her blond highlights. “You’re lucky I didn’t run you over, Carly Bell.” Tsk.

  I inwardly cringed at the sound as it grated on my nerves. On the surface, hers was a benign enough comment, and I wouldn’t have taken any umbrage at it except for the malicious gleam in her eyes beneath the brim of a dark sun hat. “Yes,” I said, edging my bike around the front bumper. “It would be terrible if you ended up sharing a prison cell with Patricia. Hello, Dr. Gabriel.”

  In the passenger seat, Doc had just set a match to his pipe. He blew out the flame, took the pipe out of his mouth, and dropped his head into his hand. Looking up at me, there was an apology in his eyes as he said, “Good afternoon, Carly.”

  Idella had taken over driving duties last spring when Doc’s cancer treatments had begun to cause double vision. I wondered if he was still having issues with his eyes even though he was in remission. Or whether Idella, a control freak, had decided not to relinquish the role once he’d gotten better.

  “Patricia will be free and clear in no time at all,” Idella said, her nose in the air.

  “I’m sure she will,” I said sickly sweet. It took all my might not to add a “bless her heart” to the statement. If Dylan and I were going to have a future, I needed to try to make nice with his mama. That meant even when she wasn’t around.

  It was like to kill me.

  “If you’re here to see Mayor Ramelle, she’s not at home,” Idella said. Tsk. “We just called on her ourselves.”

  Disappointed, I glanced toward the house. “Do you know when she’ll be back? It’s a matter of some importance.”

  “What kind of matter?” she asked, eyebrows drawn low, and I knew I’d said too much.

  I waved a hand. “Zoning stuff. Bo-ring.”

  “For your shop?” Doc asked.

  Digging my hole deeper, I said, “No, no, it doesn’t matter.”

  Idella sniffed. “I thought you just said it was a matter of some importance.” Tsk.

  Dang.

  Suddenly, a moan sounded, and they both whipped their heads left and right. Idella’s chestnut-colored bob swung this way and that. “What was that?” Idella asked, her voice high. “I didn’t run over a bullfrog or something, did I?”

  Saved by a ghost.

  On the other side of the car, Virgil was gesturing up a storm, motioning toward Dr. Gabriel. Even though this probably wasn’t the best time, I figured if I didn’t ask the vet about Louella, then Virgil was going to be fit to be tied.

  Jenny Jane, I noticed, had wandered over to the house and was peeping in the front windows.

  “I think it was the wind in the trees,” I said, lying through my teeth. “While you’re here, Doc, do you know what happened to Virgil Keane’s dog, Louella? Someone mentioned her fondly the other day and it got me to wondering.”

  “Fondly?” he repeated, looking stricken by the idea.

  Okay, fondly had been a stretch, but I hadn’t wanted to insult Virgil.

  “Ugh,” Idella groaned. “That little dog was a menace. Gabriel put her down. Good riddance!”

  Visible beneath his beard, color flared in Doc’s cheeks as he glanced at his wife.

  Virgil moaned again, this time in anger as he floated straight over to Idella and wagged a finger in her face.

  She paled. “What is that noise?”

  I latched onto my locket and said to Dr. Gabriel, “You put Louella down?”

  “Of course he did,” Idella said as though I was an imbecile. Tsk. “She was unadoptable, the vicious little thing.”

  Virgil’s angry brown eyes narrowed to slits.

  Have mercy on my soul. I wasn’t sure what would happen if she kept insulting his beloved pet.

  Fortunately for all of us, Doc said, “Actually, I didn’t.”

  “Didn’t what?” his wife asked him.

  “Put her down.” He shifted in his leather seat. “I couldn’t. She was perfectly healthy. Contrary to popular belief,” he said loudly to his wife, “I can and often do make decisions on my own.”

  Virgil slumped in relief.

  I nearly gasped, as I’d never once heard Doc raise his voice—and especially not to Idella. She pursed her lips. I had the feeling Doc Gabriel would be hearing about her outrage later.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  “At my clinic,” he said. “Idella’s right. Louella’s unadoptable. She doesn’t tolerate many being near her, people or dogs, and she does bite. She has her own stall in the kennel and is perfectly happy living in solitude.”

  This warranted another groan out of Virgil.

  Idella looked around. “Is it the fountain, you think?”

  I ignored her and focused on her husband. “Do you think I could see Louella?”

  Once Virgil could see that Louella was just fine, he could be on his ghostly way into the light.

  “Are you thinking of adopting her?” Dr. Gabriel asked with a tone of disbelief.

  Virgil stared at me and crossed his arms, tapped his foot, and nodded his head.

  Oh geez. By his stubborn look I knew he wasn’t going to go anywhere until he knew she’d found a good home.

  “Yes,” I said meekly. What in the world was I going to do with a dog? Roly and Poly were never going to forgive me.

  I was never going to forgive myself.

  That was the meanest little dog I ever did meet.

  Doc’s eyes were wide with disbelief as he checked his watch. “Do you want to go now?”

  “No,” Idella snapped. “Not now. We have lunch plans, if you recall. Tomorrow is soon enough, during regular office hours.” Tsk.

  How Doc could stand that vocal tic was beyond me.

  “Tomorrow is great,” I blurted. That gave me some time to figure a way to get out of adopting Louella.

  “Fine,” Doc said. “It’s settled then. Eight tomorrow?”

  “Eight it is.”

  Twenty hours. I had twenty
short hours to find that dog a home.

  Doc cleared his throat. “Has there been any word from Dylan about Haywood’s murder?”

  Idella shot him a look, but he kept watching me.

  I debated what to tell him, considering that his wife would likely become a suspect soon. I opted for the truth, to rattle her cage a bit. “Actually, some evidence was found that indicated why Haywood might have been killed.”

  Neither so much as blinked.

  “Evidence that will prove Patricia’s innocence?” Idella asked.

  “Perhaps,” I said, gripping my handlebars. “Perhaps not.”

  “What does that mean?” Dr. Gabriel asked.

  “It’s likely that Haywood was killed because he was the mysterious heir to the Ezekiel house,” I said, watching them closely.

  Idella’s mouth parted in shock, and Dr. Gabriel’s eyes went round. “The heir?” he repeated.

  “The heir,” I confirmed. “It was probably going to be his big announcement last night.”

  They looked truly flabbergasted, but they may have been good actors, so I let down my guard for a moment to feel their energy.

  Pure surprise.

  Sometimes being empathic came in handy.

  They definitely hadn’t known Haywood’s secret, but I couldn’t help but rattle Idella’s cage just a little bit harder. “I’m sure the sheriff will be around to talk with you soon, Idella.”

  “Why’s that?” she retorted. Tsk.

  Trying not to take too much pleasure in the moment, I said, “Isn’t it obvious? All the Harpies are now suspects in Haywood’s death.”

  • • •

  Since I hadn’t exactly gotten an answer from Idella, before she sped off, about when Mayor Ramelle might be getting home, I parked my bike and rang the bell, hoping Doug Ramelle, the mayor’s husband, was home at least.

  Jenny Jane shook her head. As she’d been peering in the windows the whole time we’d been here, I figured she would know whether anyone was inside.

  Still, I waited for a couple of minutes before abandoning the doorstep. I’d try looking for Doug at the Delphinium instead.

  It was a short ride to his restaurant, which wasn’t too far from my mama’s chapel. The parking lot was jammed with cars, and there was a line out the door of customers waiting for a table.

  Sunday brunch was no joke around Hitching Post. I shimmied through the crowd, and once inside I took off my sunglasses.

  I nearly bumped into Johnny McGee, a young waiter who was dating one of my clients, and smiled. “Sorry about that.”

  “Not a problem, Miss Carly. You looking for a table?” He glanced around the crowded room and frowned. “It might be a bit.”

  “Nope, but I am looking for Doug. Is he here?”

  He motioned with the jut of his chin. “Working the bar.”

  “Thanks.”

  With a nod of his head, he disappeared into the kitchen. I sat on a faux-leather barstool and enjoyed being ghost-free for the moment. Virgil and Jenny Jane were waiting for me out front. The bar itself wasn’t crowded—this time of day leaned toward family meals, so it was easy enough to see Hyacinth Foster at the far end of the bar, nursing something-on-the-rocks.

  Doug’s blue eyes crinkled as he smiled. He was mostly bald, and what remained of his hair was pure white. Tall and solidly built, he was a former ’Bama football player, and owned quite a few restaurants in town. “The usual, Carly?”

  My usual was a pomegranate martini. “Actually, can I get a club soda with cranberry juice and lime?”

  “After the night you had, I thought you’d order something stronger.” Grabbing a glass, he glanced over his shoulder at Hyacinth and dropped his voice. “It’s not every day you get a front-row seat to a murder.”

  Fortunately, no, but I had seen more than my fair share in the past year. Now probably wasn’t the best time to refresh his memory, however.

  “It was shocking,” I said truthfully, then tried to get him to open up. “You didn’t see anything, did you?”

  He slid my drink across the bar top. “Nothing at all. Barbara Jean and I were talking with your mama and daddy when it all happened.”

  That’s right—I’d seen them myself. So, if Idella hadn’t known Haywood was the heir, and Barbara Jean had an airtight alibi, that left Patricia and . . . Hyacinth.

  Where had she been during the murder?

  “Dougie, can I get another?” she called across the bar.

  “Be right back,” he said to me.

  Hyacinth didn’t appear to be a woman who killed her man. She looked like a woman who was about to bury the man she loved. Grief tugged at her features, creasing her forehead and pulling down the corners of her mouth. The headband that held back her blond hair was crooked, her button-down blouse was wrinkled, her red lipstick smudged. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen her not looking properly put together. It was troubling to say the least.

  She’d been drinking before arriving at the Silly Goose this morning and it appeared as though she had no thoughts of stopping anytime soon.

  When Doug came back, I said, “She’s not driving herself home later, is she?”

  “She just called for a ride. She always does when she gets like this. Or she walks home,” he added.

  Fidgety, I pushed my glass between my hands. “She does this often?”

  “Often enough,” he said without really answering, which raised red flags.

  I’d assumed Hyacinth had been drowning her sorrows.

  But maybe she was just drowning.

  If she had a drinking problem, Doug would know. “I can understand why she might drink a lot. She hasn’t had an easy time of things,” I whispered, hoping I didn’t sound overly gossipy. I mean, I was gossipy, but I didn’t want to come off that way. “Three dead husbands, and now Haywood . . .”

  Storm clouds darkened his eyes, but he kept his voice low. “I don’t know about the first three, but if you ask me, Haywood Dodd got what was coming to him, sending those letters the way he did.”

  Now we were getting somewhere. This was the second mention today about letters in reference to Haywood. Trying for casual, I said, “What letters are those?”

  Light shined on his bare head as he ran a hand over it. He snapped a rag against the counter and said, “Doesn’t matter now.”

  Squeezing a lime into my drink, I said, “I think it does matter, considering he’s dead.”

  “He played with fire, Carly. If you play with fire, you get burned. Simple as that. Let it be a warning to others to mind their own damn business.”

  I wasn’t sure whether he was simply blathering or if he was warning me.

  It felt a little like a warning.

  No, it felt a lot like a warning.

  Seeing that I wasn’t going to get far asking him questions about Haywood, I switched topics to why I’d come here in the first place. “I actually stopped by to see if you knew how I could reach Barbara Jean. I need to ask her about an old friend. It’s kind of important.”

  Suddenly, he was fascinated with a spot on the bar top. Using a rag, he rubbed and rubbed. “She’s out of touch for the rest of the afternoon.”

  This was a problem with having no cell reception in town. No one owned cell phones. Out of touch truly meant out of touch.

  “She won’t be back until late tonight. What’s this about, Carly?” he asked, his voice hard.

  It had definitely been a warning.

  I wondered what had made him suddenly uptight. Where exactly was Barbara Jean? Did her location have something to do with those mysterious letters?

  “I heard she was good friends with Jenny Jane Booth,” I explained, “and I’m trying to get in touch with Jenny Jane’s oldest daughter, Moriah. I was told Barbara Jean might have contact info for her.”

  Letting out a breath, he looked visibly relieved. “I know she does somewhere at home. I’ll have her give you a call tomorrow.”

  “Not tonight?” I asked.

  “No.”


  Well, okay, then. “Tomorrow’s fine, I suppose.” I patted my pocket and pulled out a five-dollar bill.

  He held up a hand. “On the house. Take care, Carly Bell. And be careful out there.”

  Wondering if he was giving me another warning, I tipped my head, and threw him a questioning glance.

  “It being Halloween and all. Ghosts and goblins.” He smiled a toothy smile that suddenly felt sinister.

  “I will. Thanks, Doug.” As I made my way back outside, I slipped on my sunglasses and looked at Jenny Jane and Virgil, who’d been waiting patiently for me. I grabbed my locket, holding it tight.

  I wasn’t so worried about the ghosts anymore.

  No, it was an invisible evil that was now making me anxious. The kind that hid behind the familiar faces of people I’d grown up with. People I knew well.

  Or so I’d thought.

  I couldn’t help but feel that someone I had talked to recently had killed Haywood Dodd.

  Feel it straight down to the marrow of my witchy bones.

  Chapter Twelve

  There were a few places around town to visit when in need of reliable gossip, but hands down the best place to get local scoop was at Dèjá Brew, the local coffee shop. I detoured there on my way home, hoping Jessa Yadkin, the shop’s owner, knew a thing or two about Haywood and the Harpies.

  Splinters of sunlight pierced the cloudy sky, highlighting autumn leaves, and hinting at a mild evening to come. After parking my bike at a rack near the door of the coffee shop, I smiled at a group of school kids running by in their costumes and wondered how they’d react if they knew there were real ghosts floating right in front of them.

  Most likely, they’d think they were fake. Holograms or something along those lines.

  I’d think so, too, if I didn’t know better.

  The bell jangled on the shop’s door as I pushed inside, and I breathed in a blended scent of melting chocolate and coffee. Jessa looked up from behind the counter to greet me, and immediately went for the coffeepot. “Good afternoon, Carly!”

  It was a hair past noontime, but it felt like this day had dragged on. “Hi, Jessa,” I said, taking off my sunglasses and noting that many of the tables were full. Sundays were one of the busiest for the shop. “What’s Odell cooking up? Smells like heaven in here.”